THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MR. DALTON.
"See here, my friend," said Old King Brady to the darky, "do you know
anything about that little hut standing out there in the swamp?"
"Dat hut? Sho'. Nobuddy nebber go in no mo'. Useter be fo' Massa Dalton
when he go out shootin' reed birds."
"Then it isn't in use any more?"
"No, sah."
"Does Mr. Dalton live here all the year round?"
"Golly, no. Only in de winter. Comes heah wif Missy Lizzy an' his
nephew, Ronald. Me an' my ole gal keep de house fo' dem de rest ob de
time."
"I see. Then you don't expect them here for a long time, do you?"
"Dey only jes' lef' heah las' month, an' went back to York. But Lawdy,
whut should Massa Ronald do but come back all ob a sudden las' night
wif dat ornary niggah cuss, Sim Johnson, an' git bilin' drunk, an' dey
gwine out an' didn' come back till de roosters crowed dis mawnin'."
"Who is Sim Johnson?"
"Massa Dalton's valet."
"And does the broker know his nephew drinks?"
"Mah goo'ness, no. If he did, dey would be a fight sho's yo' bo'n,
sah."
"Is Ronald Mason in the habit of going on sprees with his uncle's negro
valet?"
"Nebber done seed dem so thick befo'."
"Does he intend to remain here long?"
"Spec's not, kase dey didn't bring no luggage."
"Did they explain why they came back so unexpectedly?"
"Not to me."
"I'd like to see Mr. Mason."
"Better come back later, sah. He am too full now."
"Very well. What's your name?"
"George Scott."
"Can you tell me where we can get our breakfast?"
"Right heah, if yo' like, sah."
"Thanks. We'll accept and pay you for your trouble. Is there a town
near?"
"De railroad station ob Swamp Angel, two miles down dis road."
"I suppose we could find board there?"
"Yassah. Dar am a little hotel neah de depot. Come in, sah--come in."
He led the detectives up a path to the house and when they were seated
in the kitchen, his big, fat wife, Dinah, bustled around and soon had a
savory breakfast set before them.
The detectives praised her cooking and paid the old servants so well
for their attention that the faithful pair voted them as fine
gentlemen.
Soon afterward the detectives started for Swamp Angel.
"The action of Ronald Mason in coming here so oddly with his uncle's
valet strikes me very strangely," remarked Old King Brady, as they
trudged along the road toward the station. "In fact, it is a most
singular proceeding. He evidently poses before his rich uncle as a
paragon of virtue. Behind the old man's back he is evidently a high
roller."
"Then he must be a deceitful man," said Harry.
"Of course, for he's deceiving his trusting uncle."
"You are suspicious of him, ain't you?"
"Well, yes. It takes plenty money for a young man to lead a riotous
life. If Mason draws a big salary in his uncle's office, where he is
employed as a clerk, he may be able to afford it. If he is poorly paid,
he may be at the bottom of the mail robberies we were called upon to
investigate. See the point?"
Harry nodded and smiled; then he thought for a moment.
"You're pretty keen," he remarked. "It's a fair presumption, though."
"I think we had better keep an eye on that frisky young gentleman when
we return to New York," continued the old detective, wisely. "It may
lead to a solution of the problem we are so anxious to solve for the
broker."
"Are you going back to Dalton's to see him?"
"Yes, this afternoon. I merely wish to size him up."
"How long do you intend to remain here?"
"I'd like to unravel the great swamp mystery before we go."
"Perhaps we may in a few days."
"Well, we'll give the matter a fair trial, anyhow."
Upon reaching Swamp Angel, they soon located the little hotel and there
turned into bed for a few hours' sleep.
It was late in the afternoon when they returned to Dalton's.
Here they met the old negro again and he said:
"Yo's come back too late, gemmen."
"How so?" asked Old King Brady, in puzzled tones.
"Massa Mason an' Sim done gone an hour ago."
"Where to?"
"York."
The detectives were keenly disappointed.
However, they did not complain, and went away to search the swamp again
for some trace of the missing body.
No success crowned their efforts.
In fact, after a useless search, covering a period of three days, they
at length gave up the hunt in despair and returned to New York.
It was useless to remain prowling around that bleak swamp trying to dig
up a mystery that baffled all their ingenuity.
"We went beyond our depth," said Harry, when they reached New York.
"The game was too hard to solve. The mystery of the murdered man in the
box must remain unsolved. It can go on record as one of the many
strange cases that have baffled the detectives before. It's our duty
now to report the matter to our chief, drop it, and resume our attempt
to locate the broker's mail thief."
"Then come to headquarters at once," said Old King Brady, as they left
the cars.
They met the chief in his office and he smiled pleasantly, and asked:
"Well, where have you two been keeping yourselves hidden during the
past week? I haven't seen or heard from you lately."
The Bradys told him what they had been doing.
He listened attentively, with a grave look upon his face, while they
were giving him the facts, and said when they finished:
"Then that murder mystery was too much for you, and you went beyond
your depth trying to solve it, eh? Well, it's just as well you let it
drop."
"Anything new going on?"
"Yes. Something relating to your mail robbery case."
"Indeed! What was it?"
"Oliver Dalton has disappeared."
"Where to?"
"Nobody seems to know."
"That is very strange."
"You had better go up to his house and get the particulars from his
daughter. She is frantic to find her father. Some points might be
gained in the broker's Broad street office."
"We'll follow your advice, sir," said Old King Brady.
The chief did not seem to have many facts in relation to the case, so
the detectives finally left him.
Going to the broker's office, they found it occupied by half a dozen
clerks.
Having asked for Mr. Dalton, the office boy said to them:
"You'd better see Mr. Mason about that matter, sir."
"Is the broker's nephew in?" asked Harry.
"Yes. He's the boss here now. Got your card?"
Harry handed him a business card and he carried it into a private
office in the rear. A few minutes later he came out, with a smile on
his face, and said to the detectives:
"Mr. Mason says for you to come in."
He ushered the Bradys into the private office and they there beheld
Ronald Mason, the broker's nephew, sitting at his desk.
About thirty years of age, his tall, thin figure clad in stylish
clothing, Ronald Mason was a clean-shaven individual, with hard
features.
He had cold, gray eyes, and a haughty, overbearing appearance.
When the detectives came in, they saw him bending a queer, searching
look at them, and he then asked in low tones:
"Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you to-day?"
Neither of the detectives were favorably impressed with his appearance.
They had seen the odd look he gave them, and set him down for a tricky
and dangerous man to deal with.
Old King Brady took him in hand by saying:
"You are Mr. Mason, I believe?"
"That is my name, Mr. Brady."
"We have heard that your uncle has mysteriously disappeared."
"That's correct. We've reported the matter to the police. I presume you
are here to get information about him, ain't you?"
"Yes. What do you know about the case?"
"Simply this: Last Monday he left this office at five o'clock and
proceeded to the Union Club. At about eight o'clock, after his dinner,
a telegram was brought in to him. He showed some agitation, put on his
hat, took his umbrella and hastily departed. No one seems to know where
he went. That was the last we've seen or heard of him since. We
informed the police and nothing has yet come of it."
"Did he have any domestic or business trouble?"
"None that I'm aware of."
"Ever speak of suicide?"
Mason assumed a very mysterious air, bent near the detectives and
replied:
"Yes! Several times. And I fear he has kept his threat at last."
The Bradys were startled at this unexpected reply.